Re-Called to Duty
by same ol' Tgirl
Summary: Happily married for over 30 years and long out of the spy business, Lee and Amanda find themselves called back to the field, and doing so may affect their lives in a way they never thought possible. Don't own anything, just having fun reflecting on a re-boot idea. This is a WIP, but I have a solid plan for it! RATING CHANGE due to latest chapter!
1. Chapter 1

**Re-Called to Duty**

 **Chapter 1**

An errant ray of morning sunshine made its way through the gap between the window shade and the casing to beam directly on the face of one still-sleeping Lee Stetson. Brought to wakefulness by the light, he raised his head to squint drowsily at the numbers of the clock on the nightstand: 7:06. Too early to have to get up, despite the insistence of the sunbeam. He dropped his head back down to the pillow, tucking himself once more around the form of his wife. After 30 years of marriage, they still fit together, body, heart, and soul.

"Is it time to get up?" Amanda asked, refusing to open her eyes just yet, enjoying the warm solidity of her husband's chest against her back.

"Nope, too early," came the definitive reply, his arm tightening around her waist.

"Oh, good," she sighed, "I'm too comfortable to move."

They lay together in silence, not awake yet not asleep, content in the private cocoon of their bed and each other's presence. Soon, as was often the case, Lee found the closeness of his wife an irresistible temptation. His lips naturally gravitated to her bare shoulder, slowly pressing kisses as he made his way across her skin to her neck.

Amanda made a slight murmur of protest, "Lee, I thought we didn't have to get up yet."

He kept his attention focused on the tender flesh beneath his lips, "Who said anything about getting up? I'm all for staying in bed."

A giggle tinged with the same husky rasp of her youth escaped as she maneuvered herself onto her back and looked up at the face of the man she had loved for over three decades.

"You told me it was too early," she reminded him. "I was just falling back to sleep."

A grin was her only answer as he dipped his head toward her throat. Her change in position had given him much better access…

"Are you complaining, then?" he asked continuing his kisses, savoring the thrum of her pulse beneath his lips. He smiled again as that steady beat picked up speed, her body responding as ever, despite her words about wanting more sleep.

"Complaining?" she repeated, "me?" She looped her arms around his neck as he looked at her. "I'll have you know that _I never_ com –" she broke off with a little sigh as she felt his tongue replace his lips at the hollow of her throat.

"Problem, Mrs. Stetson?" he teased as she left her sentence unfinished.

She merely quirked an eyebrow at him, quietly shifting an arm to brush her hand across his hips. She gave him a grin that matched his earlier one as she felt the slight tremor of his body and watched his eyes darken to that deeper shade of green that told her he could not resist her any more than she could him.

She pulled his head down to capture his lips against hers. "No problem, Mr. Stetson," she managed to say before words became too difficult to form.

The sunshine was more welcome an hour later, making the breakfast nook seem warmer on this autumn morning, light playing off the golden oak of the hardwood floor. As much as Amanda had loved her old home in Arlington, this Arts & Crafts-style bungalow that she and Lee had moved to some 25 years ago was even more dear to her heart. Truly they had made it their home, built on a love that had a strength that even they had not realized that day they had exchanged vows. The bones of this home had seemed to soak up all that taken place over the years, embracing all the joy and sorrow they had experienced together, somehow supporting their family in more ways than a mere building ever could.

Giving a small happy sigh of contentment as she took in her home around her, Amanda paused to ask her husband a question before she returned to the omelet in front of her.

"What are you up to this morning? Anything to do with those bags you brought in from Home Depot last night?"

He nodded while he swallowed the bite of toast in his mouth. Even now after hearing for years how breakfast was the most important meal of the day, Lee still preferred toast and coffee. He loved to cook something more elaborate for Amanda, but for himself, he stuck to the simple food he had eaten since his bachelor days.

"I want to make sure and get a head start on that Rube Goldberg machine that Luke wants to me help him with. He'll want to get working on it before he even walks through the front door tomorrow afternoon!"

Amanda laughed even as she agreed with Lee's assessment of their grandson's enthusiasm.

"Well, he knows his grandpa is more likely to be mechanically minded than his dad!"

Lee shook his head, "I'm just a sufficient substitute for Uncle Jamie. If _he_ were here this weekend the two of them would never come up for air!"

"Now that's not true and you know it!" she contradicted. "Luke loves the time he spends with you, just as much as he does with Jamie. The two of them have such similar personalities, that's true, but he loves being able to _explain_ what he's thinking to his Grandpa. You make him feel like he's the smartest person in the room."

He laughed as got up from the table to fetch the coffee pot.

"That's because when we're together I think he _is_ the smartest person in the room." He poured himself and Amanda each a refill, "It's so funny to think that Phillip's youngest child is so like his younger brother, I wonder if Phillip ever slips up and calls him a wormbrain."

"I doubt that," she responded dryly, "thank goodness that expression finally died out when they were in college. Now tell me again what is the object of your machine?"

"Luke says he wants it to be able to either pour Cosmo's dog food into his bowl or start the coffeemaker for Phillip and Molly in the mornings." He leaned back in his chair as he asked, "You think it's a good idea to push him towards the dog food option?"

"You betcha," Amanda agreed with an emphatic nod. "Much less chance of a kitchen disaster with Cosmo's kibble versus the coffeemaker!"

"Great minds think alike," he said as he leaned across the table for a quick kiss. "Think I'll find that scene on YouTube from Back to the Future so he can see Doc Brown's version of a dog food machine and show him that before we get down to some serious mechanical planning."

"You, Husband, are simply brilliant," she complimented generously. "How did I end up with such a smart man?"

"Thank you, Wife," he returned, then appeared to lapse into deep thought, "but I will have to give it some thought to find an answer to your question…"

Amanda hummed low in her throat as she joined in the pondering, "Perhaps it was because _you_ wanted a nice piece of ass?"

The poker-faced delivery of the slightly salty language made Lee choke as he was swallowing and he baptized the kitchen table with a light sprinkling of coffee. After more than three decades together she still said "Oh my gosh!" more than any person – age 5 or 65 – he knew. But she could still surprise the hell out of him and she loved to do it with unexpected language.

Amanda wasn't done with him yet.

"No, on second thought, I really think it was because _I_ wanted a nice piece of ass."

He made no reply, but continued to cough, intent on clearing the coffee out of his airway. When this went on for more than 10 seconds, Amanda moved with some concern to come beside Lee. Was his face getting red? Had her timing been so bad that he had actually aspirated some of that hot coffee?

"Sweetheart, are you all right?" then more urgently when there was no reply, "Sweetheart?"

Just as she bent closer to him, in a flash his arms engulfed her, trapping her arms at her side and a voice growled low in her ear.

"You, Amanda West King Stetson, will be the death of me yet."

Relieved that he was just fine, she replied, "I may not start something, but I will finish it!"

"I am more than happy to start things, my dear," he informed her, his hands moving around to capably unfasten the buttons of her cardigan sweater.

Laughter once more bubbled forth from his wife, "Lee, you are acting like an oversexed teenage boy! What was in your coffee this morning?"

"Nothing, the busy man replied, "I can't help it that you are a wanton temptress and I'm helpless to resist you." Somehow he had already undone every button and opened her sweater to reveal the silk and lace bra beneath.

"What?! You, my friend, have an overactive libido," she scolded as she tried to ineffectually move his hands from her breasts. As her efforts proved fruitless, she resorted to blunt honesty.

"Do you intend to explain to your 12-year-old grandson that you weren't able to get his project set-up in time because you were feeling up his grandmother?"

That did it. Lee laughed and let Amanda pull her clothes back together.

"Fine," pressing a final light kiss atop her head, "that is a conversation I do not intend on having anytime soon. But," he continued as he began clearing the table of dishes, "you owe me some good kitchen sex."

If he intended to get Amanda back in a war of words, he failed. She merely looked at him and replied with a wicked grin "Be careful what you wish for...!"

"You win!" he chuckled. "I will quit while I can. I will do the breakfast dishes as an appropriate forfeit," he offered generously. "Now tell me what you will be doing while I'm getting things ready for Luke?"

"Well, this Wednesday is the first steering committee meeting for the Metro Veterans Ball. I want to make sure I have the agenda all worked out, and the probably run down to the Paper Mill to look over some new design ideas for the invitations this year."

"I can't believe it's already time to start thinking about that event," Lee commented as he washed dishes at the sink. "It seems to come around faster each year."

"It's still a good four months off," she admitted, "but in order to make it run smoothly, it's important to get a good head start."

"Is it the usual crowd helping out this year?"

"Yes, mostly, though we do have 2 new people. Kerry Dunn and Jonah Greenleaf are on the Junior Committee for the first time."

"Do they have a parent or other relative who's a veteran?"

"Actually, no. But they both were involved as volunteers with the home project for Captain Williamson last spring and they felt so inspired from that experience that they wanted to become more involved in the fund-raising side."

"I'm not surprised," Lee said. "How many homes have been built or re-done over that past 8 years?

"Twelve so far," she replied proudly. "I'm just glad we have the ability to fund-raise like this. The demand for accessible houses for wounded veterans isn't diminishing anytime soon."

Done with the breakfast dishes, Lee rounded the kitchen island to kiss his wife. "Well I think a lot of the credit for that success goes to you. This ball is now an annual event thanks to _you_."

"No, not at all," Amanda denied herself the credit with a firm shake of her head. "This is truly a huge group effort. I'm very happy that I've had enough experience in charity work over the years to be able to offer it for such a good cause as this one."

Her husband knew it was pointless to press the issue. Amanda was as modest as she had ever been, though the years had added steel to her spine when it came to her charitable activities. She put in long hours; corralled dozens and dozens of individuals and businesses to donate and volunteer; and managed all the various personalities of the committees. No one took advantage of her kind heart the way some had in times gone by, but she still managed to honestly not see the outsized contribution she made overall. Just one of the many reasons he loved her still so much.

"Well, then I will get to work on my project and leave you to get started," as he left the room and headed towards the garage. "Just let me know when you head out to the store, okay?"

"I will," she promised.

A stiff neck finally prompted Amanda to look around the small office where she was working and notice that more than 90 minutes had passed. It was _not_ good to stay still for so long, as her aching neck reminded her, but one task had fed right into the next and now she was paying the price. She chuckled to herself as she reflected that if she could get her hands-y husband to accept that a neck rub meant _only_ a neck rub tonight, she'd be right as rain by tomorrow.

Well, at least the agenda was set for Wednesday's meeting, and she had managed to sketch out the rough draft of the event timeline. The major committee's for this year would pretty much mirror last year's configuration, and she'd let each committee chair organize whatever sub- or _ad hoc_ committees were needed. Though it wasn't a conscious exercise on her part, Amanda's own past volunteer efforts had played a large part in forming her as the successful event coordinator that she was. Knowing what it was like to be summoned at the last minute, or overburdened with tasks, or asked to shoulder multiple peoples' responsibilities when they failed - - she made very sure not to make those same mistakes with the many people who so generously lent of their time and talents to this cause.

Pleased with her progress and ready for a break, she decided to head over to the paper goods store that the Metro Veterans Ball used each year for the design and printing of the invitations, place cards, programs, and menus. The Paper Mill was a family-owned business located in the heart of Old Town Alexandria and was known for its both beautiful and unique offerings. Amanda had developed a warm relationship with the family over the years and never left the boutique disappointed or unsatisfied.

The Ball was an elegant occasion, providing a welcome opportunity for tuxes, gowns, and jewels to be aired out, enjoyed, and shown to their best advantage. In this day of casual dress and athleisure wear, Washington society truly appreciated an event like this: classy, well-run, and not least of all, one that supported a cause everyone could get behind regardless of party or ideology.

As she came into the garage to let Lee know she was headed out for her errand, she surveyed the layout on the workbench.

"What in the world is all of this?"

"Well, most of it will end up as part of Luke's machine, I hope!" He gestured to the table as he began listing all the supplies and parts laid out in groups, "We've got springs – of various sizes and tensions of course; pulleys; ball bearings; twine; rope; wire; weights; magnets; hinges - -"

Amanda broke in with a smile, "Did you leave anything behind at the store? It looks like you cleaned out their inventory."

"Very funny," he returned, "actually I'm worried that I might be missing some items."

"I can't see what you could possibly be missing. What is Luke contributing to all this?"

Lee reassured her, expertly understanding the unspoken question in her words, "Don't worry, Amanda, I'm not doing the project for him. He's in charge of all the other things the assignment requires – he has to have 5 items from nature, at least 6 toys, 4 household gadgets or tools, and at least 3 foods."

Shaking her head at the display in front of her she commented, "Well you two will have your hands full creating a working machine out of all that - - it reminds me of the chaos of stuff that was your apartment when I first met you."

She grinned up at her husband at the recollection, but his answering smile was one that didn't reach his eyes, making the smile look more like toothy grimace. Holding in a sigh and once again wondering if Lee would ever be able to recall their time at the Agency with anything other than bitterness or anger, she quickly changed the subject.

"Well, sweetheart, I'm off to the Paper Mill and to talk shop with JD and Katy. You can always text me if you do discover that you need me to go back to Home Depot and pick anything up for you."

Relieved of the burden of thinking about the Agency, Lee's face relaxed into its normal pleasant expression.

"Do you want me to wait for you to get home for lunch?" he merely asked.

"Only if you want to," she replied, "I'm not sure how long I'll be, and if we get talking…" she let the sentence trail off as her husband rolled his eyes at her knowingly. "Stop that," she scolded, "We haven't a good catch-up chat in ages! There's plenty of cold cuts in the 'fridge if you get hungry and don't feel like waiting."

"Thanks, Mom," he teased. "I feel well taken care of."

"Smart aleck," she muttered as she kissed him goodbye.

Each made a final wave to the other as she pulled away in the navy blue Toyota RAV4. Lee stared after the car, his mind drifting back to Amanda's passing comment on his old apartment. He wished he could respond positively to casual remarks about their past, as regarded the Agency, but he just couldn't do it, even after all these years. He wondered that Amanda could do so, but then again, her personality had ever found the upside to anything. While a trait that had initially annoyed him when he first knew her, that ability had become one of the things he valued most about her character.

Lee shook his head, as if to shake loose this unhappy train of thought. It did no good to dwell or wish that things were different. He'd learned that years ago. Resolutely turning back to the interior of the garage, he set about sorting the next bag of items for Luke's Rube Goldberg contraption. He had a jumbled mixture of wood scraps, tiles, rubber sheets, plywood pieces…

A short 45 minutes later, as he was laying a protective tarp across the workbench, he heard the Toyota pull in the driveway.

"You finished up there quickly," he noted as he helped his wife out of the car and greeted her with kiss. "I didn't think you'd be back before one o'clock."

"Me neither! But when they showed me their design options for this year, it was sort of a no-contest situation, the right one just kind of leaped out at me. And they were just so busy in the shop, they really couldn't take time out to talk," she explained.

"Are you hungry?" he asked as they made their way into the house.

"Famished!"

"I will make the sandwiches, then," he offered, "if you take care of drinks and sides."

"Deal, partner," Amanda responded, nearly automatically as she went to cupboard for glassware and plates, missing the flinch he couldn't control at the old, familiar words.

Oblivious, Amanda set the table as she shared more details of her shopping trip with her husband. "They had four designs they had come up with for me to see, but when I saw them, I just really, really liked one of them right away. I took home with me the mock menu card to show you, and take to Wednesday's meeting to share with the steering committee."

She turned back to face Lee, "What did you want to drink? I think there's some cold –" her words were cut off by the sound of the doorbell chiming through the house. "I'll go see who it is, you keep making my sandwich," she commanded.

He made a slight bow in her direction, "As you wish."

She smiled to herself as she made her way to the front door. Who would ever have believed that the once hard, cynical, playboy, secret agent Lee Stetson had an undying affection for _The Princess Bride_?

Swinging open the front door and revealing the visitor made Amanda speechless in surprise – but only for a moment! Her happiness at seeing a dear friend restored her ever-natural volubility in mere seconds.

"Francine! Whatever brings you here? Is Stephen with you? We didn't expect to see you until Thanksgiving!" she stopped to both draw a breath and usher her unexpected guest through the front hallway. "Lee, it's Francine! Did you know she was coming?"

"Hi, Amanda," Francine said as she leaned in to hug her friend. Same Amanda, as always, no matter how much time had passed and circumstances had changed. In a way, like her former co-worker, Amanda's good nature, sunny outlook, and cheerful talkativeness had all been qualities the elite agent couldn't understand or enjoy. But, now, she simply took them all in as part of someone that the years and circumstances had made a close and beloved friend.

"Hey, Francine."

"Hello, Lee."

As the two also exchanged hugs Lee immediately thought _something's off_. Though it had been a long time since he had been an agent in the field, Lee still possessed what a young Jamie had often referred to as his "spidey senses," (which indeed had been a welcome ability when he had begun to take a hand in raising two boys). And for some reason those senses were jangling at full force upon seeing a friend he had known even longer than Amanda.

He unobtrusively observed her while she chatted with his wife, half-listening as they talked ". . . Stephen's at a conference . . ." She looked well; the years had been good to her, perhaps especially so because the life she had made with her husband had truly brought forth the best in Francine. Years of being with a man of integrity who thought the world of her had worn away the cynicism and materialistic tendencies that had been her personal armor for too long. What was it about her that had put him on edge….? _Ah!_ That was it, there was clearly a strain of nervous tension running through her. Her words coming a bit too quick, blinking a little too frequently, a tic pulsing near her left eyebrow; should he be grateful he could still notice such things he wondered?

He refocused his attention on the conversation and movement happening around him.

"Francine, you timed your visit perfectly," Amanda proclaimed. "We were just about to sit down to lunch and now you can join us."

Francine couldn't let the visit continue under such a happy misunderstanding that this was merely an unanticipated reunion. While part of her wanted to _never_ have to reveal the information that weighed so heavily on her, a tiny corner of her heart kept nursing the small flame of hope that knowledge also brought with it.

"Lee –" she started, then stopped. "Amanda –" she stopped again, twisting her hands together in an uncharacteristic manner, betraying openly her raw nerves.

"Are you okay, Francine? Can we help you?" Amanda asked, concerned over this very un-Francinelike behavior.

The blond woman drew in a deep breath before she answered, "I'm here because the Agency has information you need to know, and because they want you to do something for them. I told them I would be the one to come talk to you."

The two Stetsons just stared at their friend, her answer something neither one expected to hear.

Lee found his voice first. "Francine, what makes you think we would listen to anything the Agency has to say?" he ground out, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened on the handles of Amanda's wheelchair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Re-Called to Duty**

 **Author's Notes: Thanks to all who have left reviews/comments for Chapter 1 – feedback always helps the muse! I have used a T rating because – as you may have noticed a bit in Chapter 1 – I'm striving for a more real-world feel for our fictional heroes (but trying very hard to not go out-of-character), i.e, some sexuality (nothing explicit!) and some harsher language than we ever heard from the tv show.**

 **Oh, also, I have constructed the political world and it's politicians to my liking Some characters are my fictional take on real-world people; others are made-up; It's easy to follow, just don't except 100% adherence to our present situation. Additionally, I followed medical science where I could, and bent the rules to suit my story when needed. Nothing beats "poetic license!"**

 _Where we left off . . ._

" _Francine, you timed your visit perfectly," Amanda proclaimed. "We were just about to sit down to lunch and now you can join us."_

 _Francine couldn't let the visit continue under such a happy misunderstanding that this was merely an unanticipated reunion. While part of her wanted to never have to reveal the information that weighed so heavily on her, a tiny corner of her heart kept nursing the small flame of hope that knowledge also brought with it._

" _Lee –" she started, then stopped. "Amanda –" she stopped again, twisting her hands together in an uncharacteristic manner, betraying openly her raw nerves._

" _Are you okay, Francine? Can we help you?" Amanda asked, concerned over this very un-Francinelike behavior._

 _The blond woman drew in a deep breath before she answered, "I'm here because the Agency has information you need to know, and because they want you to do something for them. I told them I would be the one to come talk to you."_

 _The two Stetsons just stared at their friend, her answer something neither one expected to hear._

 _Lee found his voice first. "Francine, what makes you think we would listen to anything the Agency has to say?" he ground out, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened on the handles of Amanda's wheelchair._

 **. . . and now, Chapter 2**

Instinctively, Francine took a step backward in the face of Lee's contained fury. She hadn't experienced such anger since those long ago days when that hideous clusterfuck of a mission had cost Amanda the use of her legs. Automatically she looked to Amanda for help, the one person who could always pull Scarecrow back from the edge.

But there was no help from that quarter at this moment.

Forgetting her own reactions, she put a hand out to her oldest friend, "Lee!"

He blinked, trying to catch up mentally to the abrupt shift in Francine's voice and stance as she knelt down and took Amanda's hand and called her name. _What the hell –_

He came around too to kneel in front of his wife and saw what had so immediately drawn on Francine's concern. His wife's face had paled to chalk-white, her breathing was rapid and shallow, and her eyes seemed unfocused, glassy. _Damn!_

Lee reached up his hand to her cheek, "Amanda, Honey, are you all right?"

Her voice came out in a whispery croak, "Lee? Are you mad at me? I'm trying, really I am."

He closed his eyes at her words. They weren't a response to his question now, rather they were a repetition of words from years ago, back when he had alternated between despair and rage as he'd begged her to hold on until help arrived.

"Amanda, I'm right here," he murmured soothingly. "You're safe now. Can you hear me?"

She shuddered and drew a sudden deep breath as awareness resurfaced. Her eyelids fluttered and then flashed open to look at the face of her husband, so close in front of her. _He looks so worried, why?_

"Lee," she breathed, putting her hand over the one on her cheek, regaining her emotional balance by focusing on his presence.

He gave her a smile, shaky but genuine nonetheless as he saw that she was quickly coming around.

"Hey, there. You kinda zoned out for bit," he said in a gentle tone. "How do you feel?"

She was quickly grounding herself again, inwardly embarrassed at her lack of control. She had worked hard for years at being strong, for herself and for Lee. To be honest his cold rage had likely triggered this; she was unprepared for it and it had been like being dumped in a freezing river - - utterly immersed in the moment and unable to fight it. She was better than this! The little victories she had each day, that she shared with no one, those kept her sane, stable, and brave to do what had to be done.

"I'm fine," she reassured him. "I am really!" seeing his eyes continue to track her, looking for signs that might belie her words. "I'm sorry I scared you, but I'm really okay now."

She turned her glance to the kneeling woman in front of her. "I'm fine, Francine. Please don't worry. But you must admit that an Agency purpose for your visit is the last thing we expected."

"I know," came the quiet answer. "And please believe I would not be bringing this to you unless I thought you might want to hear it. Would you let me explain, please?"

Lee had risen to his feet, his anger returning but better contained. "Why would you even think we'd want to listen, Francine? How could you listen to them? They want something from _us_?! Does the Agency think we'd consider giving them another chance to screw with our lives?"

She stood up, ready to meet his challenge head on, "Lee, I know this seems outrageous. But don't you believe I wouldn't ever be just a tool for them?" Francine took a breath and continued in a less heated tone, "Stephen thinks this has to be something for you to consider. And you know he would always want the best for you both as well."

Pinching the bridge of his nose in an age-old habit as he struggled with his temper, he resorted to a slow, internal count to ten before speaking. A former NEST neurosurgeon, Stephen Bedford had saved Amanda's life those long years ago. He had stayed close with the Stetsons not only by continuing to be her doctor, but also because he had become Francine's husband. Lee respected and trusted him, and he admitted to himself, he also respected and trusted Francine. She too had helped Amanda fight to stay alive that hellish night, and proved herself a devoted friend in the difficult weeks and months that had followed.

"Okay, Francine," he said, after seeing assent in his wife's eyes as well, "because it's from you and Stephen, we'll listen. But we will _only_ listen. I have no intention of doing a damn thing for the Agency."

 _I don't know if I hope you change your mind or not,_ she thought, but merely replied, "Fair enough."

She turned back to face Amanda and smiled with simple warmth, "How about the lunch you mentioned? We can relax a bit first before we get to the harder stuff, and besides," she grinned, "I'm starving!"

As intended, her final comment brought a thaw to the conversation and everyone released some tension with a little laughter.

"Give your sandwich order to Lee, and I'll take care of your drink – you can set yourself a place at the table, party-crasher!" dictated Amanda as she led the little group into the kitchen.

In a matter of minutes, the three were seated around the table, catching each other up on family, friends, and other news. Unthinkingly drawing on past years' experience at compartmentalizing more volatile thoughts and feelings, they truly enjoyed their conversation. Francine had slowly come to know Jamie and Philip and now keenly followed each one's career and family life. In turn, Lee and Amanda loved Francine and Stephen's daughter Sarah, truly their "niece" as well as godchild. But finally dishes were cleared, glasses filled with iced tea or lemonade, and the atmosphere took on a more somber tone as they broached the reason for Francine's visit.

Their guest started slowly, choosing her words carefully. "As I said before, I would not be here just to make an Agency request of you, for their sake. I have no ties with them anymore, I only hear snippets of news from time to time when Stephen is asked to consult with a NEST physician or surgeon, and even then there is very little he can share with me, due to doctor-patient confidentiality and Agency need-to-know rules."

She raised her eyes to both her friends, needing to see that they believed her, no – believed _in_ her. One set of green eyes was still wary, but the brown eyes of the woman in the wheelchair shone with full trust. Determined not to betray that trust, Francine continued, knowing this was going to get difficult.

"Stephen was asked to consult again a few weeks ago, but when he got to the hospital, he found he wasn't meeting with another physician about a specific case, but with the directors from the CIA and NSA; Cameron Mitchell; Dr. Pamela Golden – she's the Director of the NIH – and the Vice President."

"Of the United States? _That_ Vice President?" asked Amanda, nearly as wide-eyed and wondering as she had been as a civilian consultant nearly 35 years ago.

"The very same," came the answer.

Lee just asked one question. "How long has Mitchell been head of the Agency?"

"About 3 years, I think," Francine said. "Stephen hasn't really had any lengthy conversations with him. He has noticed that Mitchell has been at any hospital that Stephen's been called to for emergencies, usually staying out of the way and with any family that might be there for the agent who's sick or injured. But as I said, other than maybe giving him information on an agent's condition, he doesn't know him."

"It sounds like a meeting of some very important people," Amanda commented. "Why did they want Stephen?"

Francine took a deep breath. Coming soon would be the hard part, the really hard part.

"At first they gave him some intelligence information. They said it was necessary that he know some background information before they got to asking his medical opinion."

"That is pretty unusual, even given the high security clearance Stephen has," noted Lee. "Why would background intel affect his medical advice?"

"It was odd," agreed their friend, "But this was their show, so he just listened and waited. It seems there is a research scientist and physician, German by birth, who has been living and working in the Ukraine. He's attached to the Crimea Medical Academy, which is a subdivision of the Crimea State Medical University. He is a surgeon and is also very active in medical research."

"Isn't a facility in Ukraine an odd choice for a German doctor, especially given the quality of institutions in Germany?" asked Amanda.

"Not really, it is one of the top medical universities in Europe," answered Francine. "And as Stephen was told, this scientist deliberately chose it more than ten years ago for reasons other than its reputation."

She paused. Her next words would be the first revelation that would start the snowball rolling downhill, and there would be no stopping it after that.

Lee was impatient. "And?' he asked irritated at her slow reveal of information. "What are those reasons?"

Francine's own patience was not inexhaustible. A little understanding from Lee would go a long way!

"Dr. Holland left Germany to avoid any association with his father," she said more sharply than she had intended. "And also because of his desire to oppose his father's choices, he chose a school in Ukraine to taunt Putin himself."

Amanda was bewildered by this detail. "How in the world would a doctor's place of work or study be a taunt to Vladimir Putin?"

While his wife was unclear, Lee was able to start putting some of the pieces together. He began to sort those pieces aloud, "So that means his father was an operative under Putin . . . back when Putin was heading up intelligence in East Germany in the 1980s…?" He phrased it as a question, but the former agent was certain what his old co-worker's answer would be.

"His father operated out of East Germany even before Putin was moved there in 1985. But he was an even more – aggressive – agent under Putin's 5-year tenure in East Berlin," she confirmed. "His mother had already divorced his father, so he didn't see much of him as a child. However when he was college age and had expressed an interest in medicine, his father and Putin tried to influence him to put his talents at the service of the USSR's massive biological weapons program."

"Did he go along with them or refuse?" Amanda wanted to know.

"He did refuse, but it might have been pointless were it not for the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. Dr. Holland and his mother took advantage of the political chaos to effectively disappear for almost the next 20 years. It seems our intelligence services only started figuring out his background when he re-surfaced in Crimea in 2007."

"I'm sorry, but I am still lost," admitted Amanda, shaking her head, "why would the Agency share this information with Stephen? And why does it need to be told to us?"

"Because," Lee bit out, "Dr. Holland's father is someone we encountered before, isn't that right, Francine?"

"Yes," was all she could say.

"Well who is his father, for heaven's sake?!" this felt uncomfortably like the very old days when she was a rookie civilian consultant and barely understood the "spy talk" that had gone on around her and over her head.

Lee's voice didn't lose its icy edge, "Do you want to tell her, Francine, or shall I?"

Turning to look at her friend, the blond said plainly, "Amanda, Dr. Holland's father is – was – former East German operative Curt Hollander."

"Curt Hollander? You mean that agent who was using James Delano and Quickie Chickie Snack Shacks to steal military secrets?"

It had been a long time ago but even now as a grandmother of eight she was pretty sure her memory was right about that name.

"Yes, Sweetheart, the Curt Hollander who tried to poison you." Lee was mad at Francine, and in a way he couldn't quite understand, he was even mad at Amanda as well. How could her memory of that bastard be about the traitorous businessman who collaborated with him, and not that Hollander had tried to kill _her_? Where was her sense of personal preservation? Why was he the only one upset by this?

"I know that, Lee," was the only reply Amanda made to him. Would he ever let go of feeling responsible for anything bad that happened to her? She turned back to her friend with a question, "How could he ever have worked with Putin, Francine? He went to prison after that failed intelligence operation, didn't he?"

"He did," she acknowledged, "but I did some digging and found out that the CIA had arranged for his transfer back to East Germany in exchange for three of their agents in early 1985. And it looks like that was a trade made very cleverly by Putin, who very much wanted Hollander back on his team."

"Damn CIA," muttered Lee under his breath.

Amanda ignored him and kept her attention on Francine. There must be something more here, this just wasn't registering as a big deal to her, or explaining why she and Lee were being approached by the Agency after all these years.

"Why does this matter, Francine? So this Dr. Holland has a father who was an enemy agent, and he made some life decisions to avoid him; how does that concern the Agency or us?"

"There is more to it," she admitted quietly.

"Of course there is!" Lee exclaimed. "The heads of three intelligence services, the NIH, and the Vice President of the United States didn't bring in your husband for just a game of Show & Tell! What the hell else is going on?"

"Putin wants Dr. Holland. He still wants him, our government thinks, for research on biological weapons. The Soviet program was vast and covered using weaponizing diseases like anthrax, smallpox, tularemia, the Marburg virus and many others. No one really knows what happened to the stockpiles of the Soviet bio-agents and the over 50 clandestine sites where the research was carried out. The Russians are still backing Assad in Syria and if he were to have access to biologics in addition to the chemical weapons he has already used…"

Francine didn't have to complete the sentence. All of them knew that the introduction of any one of those diseases among a population could soon spread like wildfire throughout the Middle East.

She barreled on ahead, needing to get to the crucial point of all this.

"Now that Russia has control of the Crimean peninsula, Putin has easier access to Holland, but he can't quite risk an outright kidnapping. Mitchell and the other intelligence directors think Holland would come to the US if we could get him out some way."

Lee's patience was nearly gone. "How does this affect us, Francine? Neither Amanda nor I are agents, and we haven't been for years. For God's sake, what do they want with _us_?"

Her answer came in a rush.

"Dr. Holland's real area of research and practice isn't focused on contagious diseases. He is a specialist on rehabilitative and surgical therapy in tandem with experimental pharmacological treatment of spinal injuries." She had to ignore the change of expression on both the faces of the people she considered her closest friends and just keep going. "He's hosting an international conference of neurosurgeons and he wants them to each bring a patient who would stand the best chance of benefiting from Dr. Holland's kind of therapeutic tactics and Stephen thinks –"

" – that I would be that patient," Amanda whispered.

Lee's face had drained of all color. "The Agency is dangling this false carrot of help for my wife in order to get us to go to Russian-occupied Crimea and smuggle out the son of the man who almost killed her?" He could barely get the words out, the words leaving his mouth tasting like ashes. "And you're helping them with this grotesque request?"

"Lee, no!" Francine cried out. "I would never betray you or Amanda like that!" Tears pooled in her eyes and she dashed them aside with a swipe of her hand. "This is no trick: Stephen truly thinks Dr. Holland could help Amanda regain the use of her legs and even walk again."

… **To be continued**


	3. Chapter 3

_Where we left off . . ._

 _Lee's patience was nearly gone. "How does this affect us, Francine? Neither Amanda nor I are agents, and we haven't been for years. For God's sake, what do they want with us?"_

 _Her answer came in a rush._

" _Dr. Holland's real area of research and practice isn't focused on contagious diseases. He is a specialist on rehabilitative and surgical therapy in tandem with experimental pharmacological treatment of spinal injuries." She had to ignore the change of expression on both the faces of the people she considered her closest friends and just keep going. "He's hosting an international conference of neurosurgeons and he wants them to each bring a patient who would stand the best chance of benefiting from Dr. Holland's kind of therapeutic tactics and Stephen thinks –"_

" – _that I would be that patient," Amanda whispered._

 _Lee's face had drained of all color. "The Agency is dangling this false carrot of help for my wife in order to get us to go to Russian-occupied Crimea and smuggle out the son of the man who almost killed her?" He could barely get the words out, the words leaving his mouth tasting like ashes. "And you're helping them with this grotesque request?"_

" _Lee, no!" Francine cried out. "I would never betray you or Amanda like that!" Tears pooled in her eyes and she dashed them aside with a swipe of her hand. "This is no trick: Stephen truly thinks Dr. Holland could help Amanda regain the use of her legs and even walk again."_

 **Chapter 3**

Francine's declaration couldn't have left Lee and Amanda more shell-shocked than if it had been an actual bomb exploding in their kitchen. Amanda had been in a wheelchair for nearly 30 years. She hadn't been able to walk for almost as long as she had been able to, before that disastrous mission in 1988. Use of her legs – running, walking, dancing – it almost seemed like a life of those activities had happened to another person, and not to her. Just trying to take in the idea of using her legs again was almost more than she could process.

She managed to croak out past desert-dry lips, "Francine – how - ?"

The blond woman's eyes were filled with tears again. This was even worse than she had imagined it would be. When Stephen had first brought the incredible news to her, his request for her help in going to the Stetsons with the proposal prompted the only time she had ever sworn at her husband. . . .

"Are you out of your damn mind, Stephen?" she had lashed out at him. "My God, how can you think this is anything to share with them? You were there when we got to the hospital that night, that goddamn terrible night. And the days and weeks and months, hell the _years_ since then - - you must be crazy!"

He had taken in her words without flinching, his expression both sorrowful and determined. He merely waited for her to stop yelling and to take in some air before he spoke again.

"Francine, please trust me. I would never, _ever_ , go anywhere with this idea if I didn't think there was some substance to it. I've only had a chance to skim a few of his published papers, but my God, Holland seems to really have something. All the things he highlights as most likely to tend towards a successful outcome correspond to Amanda's medical history and current situation."

His words failed to bring her around to his opinion.

"Stephen, listen to yourself! ' _seems_ to really have something;' 'most _likely_ to _tend towards_ a successful outcome.' This is all supposition!" The blue eyes that usually looked at him with love now glittered with angry tears. "Why would you go to Amanda and Lee with such little evidence? Imagine what it would do to their lives – and that the Agency is involved on top of all this medical castle-in-the-air?!"

Stephen Bedford moved across the living room to stand before his wife. "Francine, for the first time in 29 years I can offer Amanda the possibility of an end to her paralysis. How can I _not_ tell her of this chance?"

Somehow, over the next 4 hours of discussion and tears, she had come to agree him. This really did seem to be more than a mere chance for Amanda to have a life out of that wheelchair. And now, here she was, in front of her dearest friends, trying to help them understand the possibilities, as Stephen had done for her.

"I don't have all the medical details down," she confessed reluctantly, "that needs a lot longer conversation between you and Stephen. But I can tell you that all the markers for a maximum benefit of Dr. Holland's research line up with your medical history, Amanda."

Amanda tried to clear her throat, tried to sound normal; but normal wasn't in her grasp in this moment. "Francine," she said, her voice rasping as at had in the old days, when she had been truly terrified of something, "what does that mean?"

Before answering, she glanced over at Lee. He had said nothing since he had accused her of siding with the Agency. His face gave away nothing, his expression as featureless as a slab of granite. She couldn't read his eyes; whatever was going on inside him, it was bottled up tightly. She'd just have to weather the storm whenever it came.

"Stephen compared your history with the cases that Dr. Holland was worked on and written up, and your situation is so similar to those patients that Holland has successfully treated," she began to explain. "Your paralysis is partial, not complete. Retaining full use of your upper body has helped keep you in good health. And as unusual as your – accident – was - " Francine stumbled over the word and heard a single word from the man she known as Scarecrow.

" _Accident_?" came forth from behind gritted teeth.

"Oh, I know that's the wrong word!" she cried out, "Please believe I know that! I'm just trying to say all this without causing you more heartache."

She got no more reply that a return to muteness by Lee, but a small nod of the head from Amanda.

Francine pressed onward, determined to get to the end of what she had to say. "What I'm getting at is that Amanda's spine wasn't crushed that night. And that is another indicator to a positive response to treatment. Plus, all these years of physical therapy that have kept the rest of Amanda's body strong, have also helped her circulation and prevented muscle atrophy; this too puts her case as one of those that is more likely to benefit from this new intervention."

There was a last basic point to make, but Francine had no idea that this would turn out to be a revelation for her oldest friend.

"And, lastly," she continued on blindly, "believe it or not, even the neuropathic pain you have means that your nerves –" At those final few words, Amanda's head snapped upwards and her eyes widened in horror as Francine's words died away, the doctor's wife realizing seconds too late that she had shared information that Amanda had not given to her husband.

"Oh God, Amanda, I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't realize…"

Lee's complexion had gone from a colorless white to somehow a sicklier gray as Francine's inadvertent disclosure laid bare a horrible truth. He had learned a whole new vocabulary when Amanda had nearly died those decades ago, looking in every medical book he could find, and talking to every doctor or nurse he could. He had always been believed that this kind of chronic pain was one thing she hadn't had to suffer, but it seemed now that he had been wrong.

His attention was focused on his hands, clenched around the drinking glass on the table before him. "You have neuropathic pain." But it came out as a statement, and not a question.

"Lee . . ." Amanda's throat closed up, preventing her from saying another word. She closed her eyes against the sound of the hurt in his voice, hoping that not being able to see would have the added benefit of not being able to hear.

He said again, slowly, "You – have – neuropathic – pain" as if by drawing out the thought would make it sink into his brain. "For how long?"

What could she say now but the truth?

"Since waking up in the hospital," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

He made no answer but the tall drinking glass burst into pieces as his hands tightened around it until it simply shattered under the unrelenting pressure. Francine gave out a small yelp in surprise, but Lee didn't hear her. He just stood up and looked at Amanda, an unreadable expression on his face. She could only look back at him, unable to find the words to reach him, but her eyes begging him to understand her and whatever reasons she'd had for keeping this secret.

"Lee," Francine said, her voice sounding loud in the too-silent room, "you're bleeding."

"What?" he asked, hearing the words but not grasping the meaning.

She gently tried to get him to notice what had happened, "Your glass broke, and you cut your hands on some of the pieces."

He looked down to see the puddle on the kitchen table, remnants of ice cubes, tea, and now the pinkish hue from his blood. He frowned slightly as he turned his hands, noticing the cuts on his palms and fingers but still not sure how he had gotten them.

Amanda managed to finally swallow and speak to her husband, "Lee? Let me help you clean up your hands." She began to move her chair back from the table, but the man she loved took a few quick steps away from her, not letting her come near.

"I'm fine," he said, grabbing a dish towel from the kitchen island and pressing it onto the seeping cuts.

"I'm fine," he repeated. Then he turned around and headed out of the kitchen and into the front hall. "I'm going for a walk," he announced flatly, "I'll be back later." And with that the two women heard the front door open, then close, and he was gone.

His sudden departure was yet another unexpected surprise of the afternoon.

"Amanda, please forgive me," Francine asked softly, her voice giving away that she was on the verge of tears. "I didn't realize you had never told him; I just assumed he knew everything!"

"It's not your fault, Francine," her friend replied, "it's mine. He did know everything, except for that. It has been my only secret."

"I don't understand, how could you not tell him?" Francine was truly bewildered by this seeming dishonesty of Amanda's.

Amanda just gave her shoulders a shrug and said sadly, "I couldn't tell him at the beginning. He felt so guilty about the mission going pear-shaped and he was trying so desperately to do everything to help me, before we knew I wouldn't walk again. And . . . and the loss of . . ." she fought to not give into crying. Even now it was impossible to speak of the life that was lost that night without tears. "When we finally came home here, months had passed. I didn't know how to tell him without bringing back all that misery. I loved him too much to see him take on responsibility for that too, especially because it wasn't his fault."

Francine stretched out her hands across the table, grasping Amanda's in hers, "But, darling, how over these many years has he not seen you in pain? That just doesn't seem possible."

"Oh, he has seen it, at times," she corrected, "I'm so glad he's been there for the acute breakdowns – I couldn't have made it through them without him." Blinking away the tears from her lashes, the woman who had _not_ been "just a suburban housewife" for decades drew herself up with pride. "But I am tough, and strong, and I've learned how to be brave over all this time. And it's not so bad day to day," she said gamely, "besides, being able to face it and conquer it with no one the wiser – it makes me feel like I've really accomplished something."

However, a little something inside Amanda's heart cracked a little at this confession.

"And some days, Francine," she said in the old familiar raspy voice, "I really need to feel that."

… **as ever, to be continued . . .** **(sorry this is a short one! But I wanted to get something out there while I piece together EXACTLY how it goes next.)**


	4. Chapter 4

**ANs: #1 - There is some flashback in this chapter, back to the time of the mission where everything went wrong. To try and set it apart, I've used all boldface type, so readers are aware of when they've stepped back in time.**

 **#2 - Ummm, also, this portion has a more detailed love scene than I originally had planned to do. Please believe that it is not just gratuitous sex! As I began to dwell more on what goes wrong for Lee and Amanda and the consequences, this illustration of their relationship became an important point to make. If such detail is unnerving for any reader, you can move past it and it won't undermine your understanding of the plot as a whole. This truly is** _ **not**_ **my usual take in my creative writing, but I do think it is warranted as the story continues to unfold. Just want to make sure all readers are forewarned! Thanks, as ever, for reading - - reviews are soo appreciated!**

 _Where we left off . . ._

 _Amanda just gave her shoulders a shrug and said sadly, "I couldn't tell him at the beginning. He felt so guilty about the mission going pear-shaped and he was trying so desperately to do everything to help me, before we knew I wouldn't walk again. And . . . and the loss of . . ." she fought to not give into crying. Even now it was impossible to speak of the life that was lost that night without tears. "When we finally came home here, months had passed. I didn't know how to tell him without bringing back all that misery. I loved him too much to see him take on responsibility for that too, especially because it wasn't his fault."_

 _Francine stretched out her hands across the table, grasping Amanda's in hers, "But, darling, how over these many years has he not seen you in pain? That just doesn't seem possible."_

" _Oh, he has seen it, at times," she corrected, "I'm so glad he's been there for the acute breakdowns – I couldn't have made it through them without him." Blinking away the tears from her lashes, the woman who had not been "just a suburban housewife" for decades drew herself up with pride. "But I am tough, and strong, and I've learned how to be brave over all this time. And it's not so bad day to day," she said gamely, "besides, being able to face it and conquer it with no one the wiser – it makes me feel like I've really accomplished something."_

 _However, a little something inside Amanda's heart cracked a little at this confession._

" _And some days, Francine," she said in the old familiar raspy voice, "I really need to feel that."_

 **Chapter 4**

Her friend's words came as a surprise. How could Amanda be unsure of all her accomplishments? While the former elite agent had once scorned the abilities of an Arlington homemaker, that opinion had changed years ago. However, Francine knew that Amanda was not seeking mere reassurance for having lived a life in spite of her disability. While once she might've sought niceties and compliments as a consultant or rookie agent, Amanda had long since grown as a person who knew her strengths and weaknesses. She had the self-confidence to accept criticism where it was helpful and reject as flattery any praise she didn't believe that she deserved.

"Amanda," she said, looking at her friend with concern, "I want to understand what you mean, but I am at a loss. How is it that you think you haven't accomplished something, or that battling through chronic pain is the way to prove that you have?"

"I'm not saying this well, I'm sure," came the low-voiced reply. "It's just that for all that is good and a blessing in my life, in some ways it's certainly not the life I planned." Her eyes began to fill again and she smiled through them at Francine, "and I know that it isn't the life that Lee had planned either."

"Oh, Amanda, surely you know Lee loves you!" the blond woman protested.

"Yes, of course I do," she said. "I'm still not saying it right, but it's hard to put into words." She blew out a long breath, determined to get her emotions under control and tried to explain again what she meant.

"We do love each other, and we do have a life together that makes us very happy. It's just that it _can't_ be the life we had once imagined, not since I was hurt. And it's made me so dependent on Lee, every day there are things he has to do for me. . . He never complains, and I know he doesn't regard my care as a burden . . . but, for _me_ , I've needed to do something utterly on my own, to know inside that I can do what needs to be done for myself and by myself. It started out as a way to try to protect Lee from more heartache, but I guess, over time, I kept it a secret for more selfish reasons." She bowed her head, again fighting against tears. "I hope I can make him understand without hurting him more than I already have."

Francine tightened her hold on Amanda's hands, trying to communicate her affection and support through this simple gesture.

"Do you want me to go after him? Bring him back so you can talk?"

"No, thank you," she answered, drawing on reserves to muster a half-smile at her friend's desire to help. "He needs to take this all in, your information on Dr. Holland, and the Agency, and now my secret as well. I want to give him the space to do that."

"Would you like me to wait with you? For Lee to come back?"

Amanda squeezed the clasped hands entwined with her own in gratitude. "No, Francine, but, again, thank you. I really don't know how long he'll be. And maybe some time alone will do me good as well. I want to think about how I can explain what I've done. And," she added honestly, "I've got to find a way to process what you've told us this afternoon, too. It's all a bit overwhelming."

"I know, Amanda," she said, "and I am sorry that I made this already unnerving proposal even harder for you both. I wanted to find a way to tell you that would somehow make it easier, and I made it just that much worse."

As she ever had, the brunette of the twosome tried to find the positive note with a philosophical observation. "Well, I guess it really couldn't stay hidden forever," she offered, "and maybe it's better that all the worst shocks came out in one day."

Those words still rang through Francine's thoughts as she drove away a few minutes later, good-byes made and hugs exchanged. Even now, having known this genuine and gentle woman for over 30 years, she still marveled at the depths of good will that Amanda Stetson could plumb when the need arose. She shook her head as made the turn onto the George Washington Parkway.

"Face it, Francine, you will never be the kind of woman that Amanda is. You got lucky in finding someone to love you for the semi-decent person you are." She sighed as she merged into traffic and made one final comment aloud, "I do hope Lee doesn't forget how lucky he is to have her in his life, every day since he gave her that package at the train station."

Turning her thoughts to what lay ahead for her, Stephen would very likely be in their room by the time she made it over to the hotel in McLean. He would certainly be anxious to hear how this afternoon had gone. In a way it was a relief to encounter some traffic and gain a little more time to do her own processing of the day and think about how to share it with her husband.

After walking out his front door and turning down the street, a numb Lee Stetson took little notice of where he was going or in what direction he was headed. His brain felt like an overloaded transformer, with his thoughts racing and emotions chaotically tumbling - - no coherent line of thinking could form, no circuit would complete, and useless sparks of energy seemed to sap his heart and strength. What in God's name was he to make of all this?!

Anger seemed to be the easiest way to go, and so he allowed all that he had tamped down at home to spill over, now that he was alone.

 _How could the Agency even think of asking them to be involved in some crazy rescue operation?!_ His gut roiled at the thought of accepting a mission, following someone else's plan to achieve some "vital goal" no matter the cost. He'd had enough of that for one lifetime and then some. His temper continued to build as his mind began to dwell on the scenario that had been so briefly laid out for him.

"My God," he yelled aloud, "Was nearly killing my partner not good enough for them 30 years ago? Did they think we'd just get in line for more agony and heartache?"

Unknowingly he had broken into a run, his body trying to expend the furious emotion that only kept growing. He almost never permitted his thoughts to go back to the days when he and Amanda had been among the key operatives for the Agency. The rage and betrayal he felt from that final mission were too easy to tap into, and it was far better never to go there. He lacked the ability his wife seemed to have, to be able to pick out the good moments or funny memories of their days before, before Austin Smyth's arrogance and soulless ambition had nearly destroyed everything that Lee treasured. But now that he had let loose that tightly barricaded dam, the flood of memories came rushing through, all the more intense for having been shut away for so long.

 **. . . Smyth himself had handpicked the team he was sending in for this nighttime operation. Scarecrow and the missus were taking point. As much as the calculating Agency leader hated to acknowledge it, this married couple had become the best of the best. They closed cases faster than any other partnership and their success at staying under the radar with minimum collateral damage had become practically legendary. Even he couldn't deny that somehow the improbable pairing of an experienced but cynical agent with a civilian mother of two had morphed into an amazing team. The two of them functioned more smoothly than any deliberately designed machine from a Silicon Valley laboratory. This duo, backed up by Desmond and Rogers, would be the perfect weapon to use in his latest plan to strike hard at the increasingly desperate and aggressive Soviet Union's activities in the United States.**

" **All right, kiddies, listen up and let's go over this one more time," he said, somehow adding acid to such innocuous words. "I don't want any screw-ups on this little adventure you'll be on. That would mean egg on my face, and I don't intend to let you make me look like Humpty Dumpty."**

 **The four agents seated around the table exercised monumental self-control to not react to his declarations. This was familiar if well-disliked territory. Just Smyth being Smyth. But there was also no denying that every single one of them had a deep longing to punch him in the mouth and put an end to his smug and condescending lecture.**

 **He took a puff of his cigarette and pointed the holder at each of them in a stabbing motion, in coordinated time to his next words.**

" **Don't. Fuck. This. Up." He used the foul language with an interior glee; the use of fuck always made the little housewife-turned-agent squirm uncomfortably. He continued on as if he hadn't noticed the grimace that indeed had crossed her face, "The President is expecting a stellar report on this mission's success to be on his desk before dawn. I won't be the one to disappoint him because of you."**

 _ **Arrogant ass,**_ **was the lone thought in Lee's mind at the man's ridiculous mini-rant.** _ **The sooner this was over with, the better!**_

" **Look, Smyth, we're –"**

" **We're ready to go, sir," Amanda interrupted her husband smoothly, "We've all read through all the intel reports you gave us, and each of knows what we need to do for this plan of yours to work."**

" **Nice save, King," he smirked, "please keep your boy from getting out of hand tonight as well. We know how much Scarecrow likes to play the cowboy."**

 **Now Francine stepped in, noticing Lee's fingers clenching around the pencil in his hand, knuckles whitening as he struggled with his temper at the condescending words.**

" **Sir, if you are not certain we can do this –" She heard the sound of the pencil's wood snapping as Lee cracked it in half, but continued on quickly, "—if you doubt our abilities then we're more than willing to back out in favor a team you feel you can trust."**

 **She raised wide blue eyes to stare at him innocently, all the while knowing that there was no way in hell he would want anyone else to handle this assignment. He just wanted to bully them, but there was a limit to how much they'd put up with from him.**

 _ **Bitch!**_ **Smyth hated being reined in, by anyone.**

 **But he recovered quickly. "No time, Desmond. It's you all or no one, so I repeat myself. Don't fuck this up. My information on this passage of defense technology is unimpeachable. As long as you all follow my orders like good little soldiers, we'll stop the scientists who've sold out to the Commies, and the Politburo will be no closer to a space-based missile platform than they were yesterday."**

" **As Amanda told you, we've gone through out assignments for the intercept tonight thoroughly," said Mike Rogers with the patience so characteristic of his low-key temperament. "If all the intel you've given us about the meet tonight is accurate, then the result will be just what you want: three American scientists, two computer programmers, and five Soviet agents in custody and no US secrets compromised."**

" **There are no ifs about this, Yoda," Smyth snarled Rogers' codename with venom. "I've vetted it, and any problems with tonight's mission will be on the four of you! Now quit wasting my time and get busy with your prep work for this evening. Unless I have to do that for you as well?"**

" **No, sir."**

" **We're on it."**

" **On our way."**

" **It's under control."**

 **The chorus of answers from the four agents kept Smyth quiet as they exited the conference room. As team leader, Lee quickly passed on instructions as the group moved down the hallway.**

" **Mike, stop by the armory and Communications for weapons and all the electronics we'll need, and have George triple-check every ear-piece, bug, microphone, and receiver. Francine, get with Leatherneck about the van we'll be in. Since this meet is out in the middle in of nowhere, he has been working out how to extend our mileage per gallon** _ **and**_ **installing a second auxiliary gas tank. Once Mike has all his stuff loaded on, I want you to run numbers to make sure Leatherneck's improvements will hold out with the end net weight of the vehicle. And please make sure he's also got all the other equipment we'll need – flashbangs, laser guides, night vision gear – you know what's on our list. If you hit any snags, Amanda and I will be up in Q Bureau. We're reviewing our maps for every detail on this godforsaken part of Maryland."**

" **Didn't Smyth provide the road maps we're using? Do you think they're wrong?" asked Mike with a raised eyebrow. Sure Smyth was an arrogant s.o.b., but he wouldn't give them phony intel.**

 **Lee ran a hand through his hair in frustration, "No, I don't think they're wrong, but maybe they're not right enough. We won't have back-up that will be able to help us out there due to all the need-to-know, hush-hush secrecy he's been insisting on. I don't want any surprises, and knowing those couple square miles backwards and forwards can only be to our advantage."**

" **Roger that, Scarecrow," was Rogers' only reply and the former Special Forces officer sauntered off to carry out his assigned tasks.**

" **I'll see you in a while," tossed Francine over her shoulder as she headed down the hall in the opposite direction, hoping to find Leatherneck not knee-deep in automobile parts.**

" **You're quiet," observed Scarecrow to his wife and partner as his hand automatically went to her back, a light guide and protective gesture that was a natural to him now as breathing.**

" **Just thinking about something," she responded softly.**

" **Are we sharing today?" he teased as the waited for the elevator.**

 **Amanda rolled her eyes, "Yes, but can you wait until we're upstairs in the office?" She made a slight gesture with her hands, indicating the steady flow of people around them.**

 **He merely ushered her into the elevator, sweeping aside the hanging coats and jackets, then moving them back again as the doors slid shut. They kept a companionable silence in the elevator and up the stairs to the Q Bureau office, breaking it only to greet Mrs. Marston as they passed.**

 **Once safely behind the closed door Lee turned to his partner expectantly, "Well?"**

 **Perching on the edge of a desk she began, "Did anything seem odd to you as Dr. Smyth was talking to us today?"**

" **Amanda, everything that jerk says is odd, rude, or the filling for a crap sandwich!"**

" **Lee, I'm serious," she chided gently. "I mean, odd-odd, out of the ordinary odd."**

" **You'll have to enlighten me, my dear, I honestly can't listen to what he says without wanting to kick him in the teeth, so I admit to not paying attention very well."**

" **It just seemed to me," she said slowly, still trying to give the right voice to her suspicions, "that he's a little too emphatic about how perfect his intel is for this assignment. He won't tell us the source, but says that it is "unimpeachable." Have we ever had information** _ **that**_ **perfect? He's allowing no margin for error except for our possible missteps…"**

 **She looked up at her partner, waiting to see if he would confirm her doubts. She didn't have any proof to support her misgivings, just a gut feeling that she hadn't been able to shake since Smyth had first briefed them a week ago. His words today carried the feel of "the lady doth protest too much" and in her mind had become "the man doth praise too much."**

" **I'm not sure," Lee admitted. "I've never trusted him,** _ **you**_ **know that. I think that colors my perceptions of him. But," he added, putting his hands on her shoulders, "you are great at picking up on little things that I know I don't see. If you're feeling uneasy, I buy it."**

" **So what do we do about it?" was her practical question.**

" **I think the only thing is to double-down on what we're already doing: triple check everything we can and try to cover every angle we can with our mission prep," he answered.**

 **Amanda had been half-hoping he'd come up with some near miraculous alternative that would ease her qualms, but realistically she knew that he had given her the only real solution there was. They could only control what they could; Smyth and his source wasn't part of that, unfortunately. With that she made up her mind to focus on the tasks at hand and put her worries to the side. Dwelling on those wouldn't help prevent errors, and it could lead to making mistakes instead.**

" **All right, Scarecrow, let's tackle those maps," she offered briskly. She hopped off the desk but discovered that her partner had firmly planted himself in front of her, letting her go nowhere.**

" **Lee…?" she asked, puzzled.**

" **I –" he lowered his head to briefly kiss her lips. "Would rather – " another kiss came to rest along her jawline. "Tackle you," he completed as he pressed a last kiss against the smooth column of her neck, savoring the feel of her pulse against his lips.**

" **Lee!" she laughed, pushing her hands against his chest to make him stop. "We've got work to do!"**

 **He failed to let her protest have any effect. He returned to her mouth, placing swift kisses along the edges of her lips, justifying himself in between each kiss.**

" **I know we do. So let's just take 15 minutes for ourselves first," he urged. Would he never stop wanting her?**

 **She laughed at him again, but insisted somewhat indignantly, "Mr. Stetson, I am not the type to settle for a 'quickie'!"**

 **He was intent on having his wife, even here in the damn office. He pressed more firmly against her, letting the close contact of their hips prove to her that he was quite ready to take advantage of the situation. Moving his hands off her shoulders, he deliberately moved his fingers across her breasts. His actions had the desired result as he felt her body react to his touch, nipples tightening to show through the thin silks of bra and blouse.**

" **Really?" he asked with a wicked grin. "I seem to recall a certain person demanding just that the other morning, while we were just supposed to be waiting for the boys to finish getting dressed before we went out to brunch."**

" **That was different," she responded, her cheeks flushing pink, though he couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or in response to his continued attentions.**

" **Would you care to explain how?" he teased, his eyes on hers as his hands finished pushing her blouse off her shoulders, leaving a cool puddle of white silk on his desk. He had discovered early on in their marriage, much to his delight, that engaging her sexual passion was one sure way to stem the words of his loquacious wife. Already she was struggling to form words in the few brief minutes since he had first kissed her.**

 **She was having difficulty drawing a breath to speak. He had casually told her a couple of years ago that he had a "healthy sex drive" and he had more than made good on that declaration in the time since. But the office…!**

 **She started to say his name again, but instead was only able to make a low moan as his mouth replaced his hands at her breasts, his tongue sweeping over the already peaked tips, the dampened silk of her bra only adding to the erotic friction. Her mind fought for coherence even as her body began to surrender. Almost of its own accord, her chest arced upward, reveling in the heat of his mouth while her hips rose as well, craving the feel of his arousal.**

 **Her actions were her undoing. He slipped a hand along her leg, pulling her thigh upwards to gain a better fit between their bodies, then gliding along the inside her thight, moving aside more silk to touch the satin skin that he knew would already be slick in anticipation of receiving him. She gasped as she felt his fingers caress her, her nerve endings on fire. Somehow, her mind unable to account for how, he had freed her breasts from her bra, and his teeth and tongue were raw against her skin, playing an exquisite torment in tandem with the steady strokes of his fingers. It was impossible to deny him now, she wanted him now too much in return.**

 **She managed to make her own hands work, finding their way past his clothing to free his rigid length from the restraints of pants and boxers. A groan now escaped him, her touch always welcome. She breathed one word into his ear, "Now."**

 **Lifting her up back onto his desk, he had the perfect angle of entrance and gradually filled her with himself, taking care to enjoy every sensation their bodies gave each other. He kept his pace deliberate, refraining from the nearly irresistible urge to move faster. The slower tempo built up a delicious agony for them both, delaying the climax they sought but building its power all the more as their goal was prolonged.**

 **Tears of passion gathered in Amanda's eyes, this unexpected encounter swamping her body with pleasure that was almost unbearable. They had a rich and satisfying sex life with each other, the bonds of their marriage making their physical love all the sweeter. Yet this sudden seduction by her husband was close to shattering. If she didn't find release soon she fully expected to fall apart from the unfulfilled strain.**

" **Lee…!" she begged hoarsely, her body trembling against him.**

 **His feelings not any different from his wife's, his own body shaking from the effort to maintain control, he sought to answer her petition. Claiming her mouth again in a powerful kiss, he continued his deliberate strokes and moved his hand to where they were joined, fingers easily finding the delicate tissue, swollen with the tension of her ever-growing arousal. Within seconds she was gone, her cries of fierce pleasure captured by his mouth. And she in turn was responsible for his, as her contracting muscles pulled him over the edge as well with a strength he'd never before experienced. The waves continued to break over them together, the shared climax gifting them with a gratification that was both intense and long-lasting.**

 **When at last they could breathe calmly again, Lee contentedly kissed her, finding joy too in returning to stability with this woman who was his partner, his wife, and his lover.**

" **What was it you were saying?" he asked, an all-too-fake expression of innocence on his face.**

 **Eyes still closed, Amanda murmured, "Nothing . . . just . . ."**

" **Just…?" he prodded.**

" **Just… oh my gosh!" she finally said.**

" **Oh, Amanda," he laughed, unable to contain himself at her words. "Only you, my wife, would describe the most incredible love-making we've ever had with the phrase 'oh my gosh'!"**

 **She gave a little chuckle, realizing it was rather an understatement. "Brain still too fried to think of anything else?" she offered in her own defense.**

" **Mine too," he agreed, smiling. "Now there's work we need to do, if you're done seducing me, Mrs. Stetson."**

" **Don't even think about blaming me for this, Mr. Stetson," she warned, as she worked at getting her clothing back in place. "This was all you, buster."**

" **You were rather cooperative, as I recall," he said, moving to help her with her blouse.**

" **And you were rather insistent, as I recall," she retorted as she did up the buttons. "Besides," she added looking up her husband through her lashes, determined to get back him in all good fun, "You know full well that once you touch me, I can't let it end until I have you buried inside me."**

 **Her bold confession had the desired effect.**

" **Oh god, Amanda," he groaned before kissing her again, his tongue plundering her mouth with abandon. How did she do this to him with mere words? His body was already alive again, and he could feel the hot blood rush to his groin.**

 **She fully returned his kiss and felt his returning hardness against her leg. But this was not going to go on, at least for this moment. She had a plan now, one in which she could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. She broke off the kiss, putting some distance between them before he in truth did touch her again, and render her plan useless.**

" **No, Scarecrow, as you said, we have work to do," she reminded him with a grin. "But if you do all you need to and you do a good job tonight, I promise you** _ **two**_ **surprises when we get home."**

" **Amanda," he growled, stepping towards her again, wanting to touch her skin again.**

" **No, Lee," she said firmly, but with a smile on her lips. "We really need to get started on reviewing these maps. Besides, think how much fun you'll have trying to imagine what your surprises could be?"**

" **You're joking, right? If I spend two seconds thinking about you naked, Yoda and Francine will know** _ **immediately,**_ **" he complained.**

" **Don't whine," his wife admonished. "Besides, who said anything about me being naked? You've gotta get your mind out of the gutter, Scarecrow."**

 **The two of them had enjoyed a final laugh as they pulled out the various maps that would be reviewed. As Lee had told the team earlier, he wanted to know everything about the location of the drop they intended on raiding this evening. Therefore he had pulled roadmaps – both current and ones going back in time up to ten years ago; satellite maps; physical maps; and even more detailed topographical maps. They would not be caught unprepared if he had anything to say about it….**

The blast of a horn from a passing Mack truck pulled Lee out of his memories and into the present. He found himself in the middle the street, the truck barreling down on him. He stumbled back to the sidewalk, struggling to readjust to the moment and orient himself to his surroundings.

 _Oh God, Amanda,_ he thought, the anger he'd had now battling with a deep sorrow. He hadn't let his mind go back to that fateful day in years, not even in his dreams. All that prep work, all the precautions they had taken had meant nothing in the end. The drop ended up being nothing like they'd expected. Instead, they had uncovered a weapons sale to FARC militants who'd been smuggled into the U.S. from Colombia. The drastic change in circumstances brought about the very thing they had sought to avoid: their team at risk and the mission resulting in casualties.

His emotions again urged his body to move, to express in some fashion all that was churning within him. Seeing no traffic, Lee took off again, crossing the street and heading towards the wooded park half a mile down the road.

 **. . . to be continued!**


End file.
